Produced by David Garcia, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Kentuckiana Digital Library) THE TYRANNY OF WEAKNESS BY CHARLES NEVILLE BUCK AUTHOR OF "THE CALL OF THE CUMBERLANDS," "DESTINY," Etc. Frontispiece by PAUL STAHR [Illustration: Publisher's logo] NEW YORK W. J. WATT & COMPANY PUBLISHERS [Illustration: Stuart was a memory and she was trying very hard to make him even less than that] COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY W. J. WATT & COMPANY _OTHER BOOKS BY_ CHARLES NEVILLE BUCK THE KEY TO YESTERDAY THE LIGHTED MATCH THE PORTAL OF DREAMS THE CALL OF THE CUMBERLANDS THE BATTLE CRY THE CODE OF THE MOUNTAINS DESTINY PRESS OF BRAUNWORTH & CO. BOOK MANUFACTURERS BROOKLYN. N. Y. THE TYRANNY OF WEAKNESS CHAPTER I They were types in embryo, but of course they did not know it. No more would a grain of wheat and a poppy seed dropping side-by-side in a fallow place reflect upon their destinies, though one might typify a working world's dependence for bread; the other a dreaming world's reliance for opium. They were a boy and a girl stepping artlessly into the wide chances of a brand-new and vastly interesting adolescence. Just now her young eyes were provocative with the starry light of mischief. His were smoldering darkly under her badgering because his pride had been touched to the quick. His forefathers had been gentlemen in England before they were gentlemen in the Valley of Virginia and his heritage of knightly blood must not be made a subject of levity. But the girl reflected only that when his dark eyes blazed and his cheeks colored with that dammed-up fury she found him a more diverting vassal than in calmer and duller moods. A zoo is more animated when the beasts are stirred into action. "What was it that General Breckinridge said, Stuart?" She put the question innocently. "When the Newmarket cadets made their charge?" "He said--" Suddenly the boy caught the riffled mockery of her eyes and abruptly his inspired recital broke off in exasperation, "May I ask just why you find that such a funny story?" he inquired with ironical dignity. "Most people seem to think it was rather pitiful than comic to send to their slaughter boys almost young enough to be in the nursery." The eyes of Conscience Williams twinkled. "Maybe it isn't the story itself that's funny," she deigned to admit. "When your father told it, I cried--but when you tell it your face is so furious that--that you seem about to begin the war between the states all over again." "Of course that makes it perfectly clear." Into the manner of young Mr. Stuart Farquaharson came now the hauteur of dignified rebuke. He enveloped himself in a sudden and sullen silence, brooding as he sat with his eyes fixed on his riding boots.